find your snow.

It is no surprise that I practically abhor the winter season.  I grew up with “White Christmas” defined by the color of the sand on the gulf shores and the caps to the waves.  I have about a 15 degree threshold for temperature variance. Somewhere between 75 and 90.  I’m a staunch believer that Christmas does not begin until after Thanksgiving is over.  I live in the same two pair of black riding pants from November through March. I slept in my boot socks.  I cried at the first snowfall (and subsequent iced-over-windshield-scraping) of the season.  I don’t take my coat off when entering a building.  I don’t handle cold mornings with much grace. 

But then, something magical happens.  This white, semi-solid, uniquely and individually designed particles start falling from the sky.  But that’s not even the magical part; what’s most miraculous is how it immediately causes my heart to react.  It’s as if, suddenly, I’ve forgotten my limbs have lost sensation, and I begin to lose all reason.  Maybe snow in general is still enough of a spontaneous rarity that I’ve not yet become familiarly acquainted with its negative properties.

I stand. I stare. I gawk. I watch, as the flurries float effortlessly towards the ground, often detouring and giving shape to the unseen gusts blowing them every-which-way and back again. And as the flakes seem momentarily suspended, it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to time standing still.

Winter itself, and perhaps it’s the holiday season specifically, conjures up feelings of nostalgia for something that never was.  There’s a romantic notion about white skies and bare trees. It’s a paradox of sorts.  Snow is the culmination of every frigid little thing I detest about winter, yet, it’s the one saving grace for the season.

Whatever season you’re in in life: transition. waiting. grief. rebuilding. winter.  Find your snow.  Find the one thing that brings out the beauty amidst the barren.  Seek the solace that causes you to forget how cold it is.  And rejoice that the Lord has provided grace for even the most difficult of seasons.

***

Tuesday Typing Tunes: “Hazy” - Rosi Golan | “It Is Well With My Soul” - Daniel Martin Moore | “Such Great Heights” (cover) – Iron and Wine | “Deep In Your Eyes” – Jon Foreman | “Brand New Day” – Joshua Radin | “Jesus Paid it All” – Fernando Ortega | “Photographs and Memories” – Jason Reeves | “Still” – Matt Nathanson | “Down” – Jason Walker | “Trees and Flowers” – Enter the Worship Circle

a bulemic at a buffet

just about any of us post-collegiate's can relate.  you're at a social gathering, a meeting with colleagues, volunteering in your community or at your child's school.  next to introducing yourself, the most commonly asked and answered question is, "so, what do you do?" 

our identity is so stooped in our vocation, that next to our name, we are known as or even referred to by our job title.  i'm a teacher.  i'm a student.  i'm a doctor.  i'm a musician.  to an extent, it's much easier to answer the question with "i teach kindergarten," simply because I spend between 50 and 60 hours a week devoting my life to just that.

if afforded the opportunity to expound, and granted the interest in the answer is beyond surface level asking-to-be-nice, i might share what my day looks like, the things i enjoy about it, or the challenges it presents, daily.  and chances are, i will offer the courteous follow-up, "and what about you?"

to a certain point, simply stating our vocation depicts a fairly accurate description of our identity and character, but it's also strangely limiting.  i am much more than a teacher.  and during many parts of my day, i dream about those parts of me that are starving for the same attention i devote to teaching.  granted, it might come off fairly odd to respond to that question with "i'm a dreamer. a writer. a traveler. a do-er. a child of God. an extrovert stuck in the season of introverted-ness. a server."  i'm sure that would elicit a few sets of rolled eyes and potentially the end of the conversation.

i went to school for teaching. teaching is what pays the bills. education is a passion of mine, and on most days, i feel like it's where i am supposed to be.

but regardless of what our calendars or wardrobe may suggest, we can not be reduced simply to what we do as a career.

so why then, do we spend so much time and effort into developing that part of our identity, and so little to the other parts; the other parts that often make us feel more alive and like "ourselves" than our job?

we starve our passions, and we call ourselves committed to excellence in our job.  we don't nourish the parts of us that refresh us, and we wonder why we are exhausted at the end of our work day.  we flex our corporate muscles when what lies under the suit and tie is suffering from atrophy. we give all of ourselves to a career that leaves us feeling worn, unhappy, under appreciated, or insignificant. we get home from work, only to continue to send emails, work on projects, lesson plan, or think about nothing more than work.

exercising more than one part of the body brings your body into balance.  focusing on just the arms will leave you top-heavy.  focusing on just the legs would leave you weak.  at risk of sounding nameste-esque, we need to bring our lives into the zen we were created to have.

you have been given unique talents and abilities and gifts and passions.  maybe you're not even good at them, but you love doing them when no one is looking.  dear one, exercise those things!  allow yourself time (longevity) to grow into them.  but first, allot yourself time (schedule-wise) to spend on them.

yesterday morning, i had a moment of peace in my busy day in which i felt joy from teaching.  to be incredibly transparent, i don't feel that often each week.  and at the same time when i felt a love for teaching, i simultaneously wanted to quit my job and be a starving artist or writer, holed up in a corner coffee shop, scribbling notes and ideas that allow my creative side to flourish. 

I realized since the start of the school year, I have only fed and poured into the part of my identity labeled teacher.  my other identities were starved for attention, and i felt the hunger pangs that were drawing me into feeding my creative side.  i could hardly wait to get these words out of my mind and onto a page.  not that they are ground breaking or new, but for the simple sake of writing.  for the act of artistically and systematically stringing together sentences of alliterations. of expressing feelings that aren't neccessarily coupled with linguistic expression until the words trickle onto the page at the mercy of my finger tips.

American writer and essayist, Flannery O'Connor once said, "I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say."  Selfishly, I write to make sense of the mess that is going on inside my heart and mind.  Writing brings unity to the chaos.  Words on the page are the universal language to the multitude of dialetcs being spoken and (mis)interpreted in the silent space between my ears.

Secondarily, I write in hopes that it brings sense to those that read it as well.  for those yes! moments in which we feel as if someone relates. in hopes that my experiences will help reveal the mystery of the metaphors life often speaks to us.

i've never run a marathon, but i volunteered at the finish line once (and that pretty much counts). i imagine that crossing that line is like hitting "publish" on a post.  it may not have been pretty.  it may have taken a lot longer than you anticipated.  and you may have done it just for you.  but the feeling when you get when you're finished, the satisfaction of having done it, knowing that you had it in you all along: these things make the investment worth it.

so, feed yourself. and well. not the junky, fast-food version that does nothing more than make you not-hungry. indulge, even if it means making extra time to add the extra ingredients to make it extra savory.  it's good for you. it makes you healthier.  a healthier you is a happier you.  whether that you is a dreamer, a dancer, a doctor, or a do-er.  feast on, friend!  i'll be right behind ya in line at the buffet!

to callings beyond careers,
xo

new-ances.

you and i both know it, so there's little reason to spend a ton of time discussing my absence here.  i could lie and say i've been busy, but that's not really the case. i could say that i haven't felt much like talking, or that i wouldn't know what to say; but those two would be fallacies.

living in Indianapolis has not been Nashville.  this fall has not been last fall, and this year has not been last year.  this move was not like my move to Tennessee a short six-and-a-half years ago. this coffee shop i'm sitting in is more Taking Back Sunday than Sufjan; this Mexican Hot Chocolate is definitely not a Mayan Mocha from The Well (which definitely is not in Indy, either).

so, i'm adjusting.  i've been slow to write, because i've been slow to acclimate.  embarrassingly slow.  like, an i-thought-i'd-be-good-at-this-by-now, but-i-was-wrong sort of pace.

and that's okay.  Indy was not meant to be Nashville.  and this year was not meant to resemble the one prior, or any others for that matter.  nothing here is meant to replace that which came before it.  nothing here can take away that which already exists.

there's a deep tension in life of what we have and what we are missing.  contentment happens when we focus on what we have.  resentment happens when we focus on what we are missing. 

when I first moved, it was difficult to see past all the life I have just given up to transplant myself in a new city.  all the changes at once: new city, new job (and the initial lack of one), new district with new curriculum and a new demographic and new administration, a new church, a new house; and all of the things missing: friendships that have surpassed a decade, or even longer than 10 minutes, being roommateless for the first time ever, those local spots that felt like second homes (second reference of The Well, in case you missed it), my yoga class from 4 blocks away, faith friendships that i could call on with a moment's notice, even just knowing where to get the best taco (the perma-parked truck on Charlotte) or good felafel (Farmer's Market). I felt the tangible absence of each and everyone of these things.

And, even in the presence of the goodness of why I moved (my own personal McDreamy), it was hard not to feel the withdrawal pains of all I chose to leave behind.  it was much less of a battle against resentment than it was a fight for contentment.

i expected carbon-copies of friendships and churches and coffeehouses. and the reality is, not only is that unrealistic, it is also limiting and mildly insulting that those things could ever be replaced.

i'm finding a rhythm to life.  the cadence to this new song is different than that i've danced to before.  but different is not bad.  how often are you afforded the chance to start anew?  to build a life from scratch, and share in that new life with the one you love?  to fall face-first into new experiences and treasure them as unique and valuable and shaping?

in the same way i expected to replicate life from Nashville in Indianapolis, i've expected my walk with the Lord to be duplicitous to how I've experienced Him in prior seasons of change.

I'm learning that the ways I've experienced the Lord, or looked to Him, or grown to know Him in the past, are not the ways I'm experiencing Him, looking to Him, or growing with Him here, in the present. At first, I thought that meant I was doing it all wrong. But after the tides have settled from the drastic ebbs and flows of change, I've been able to see that in this new season, I need Him in new ways. and a good friend reminded me during a quick meet-up in Nashville that is the way it is supposed to be.

He says I am, because, He is. all things. any thing. every thing. exactly what I need. even when I don't see it, don't notice it. 

in this new season, I need a fresh facet of His face.  where i've latched on in faith before, I may need His hands to hold me in my doubts.  where i've walked in confidence, I've forgotten my identity in Him, and desire Him to patch up the places of my life that have been riddled with the holes of insecurity.  the aspects of His character that I've gotten to know intimately have suddenly felt foreign.  and for a time, it left me feeling that i was holding onto the tattered rags of what once was, but is no longer.  it was a scary place to be.

but i can't help but think of the tabernacle from the Old Testament. it had to be torn down, and reconstructed to a set of standards each time it moved on to a new place among the people.  God has been hard at work rebuilding my tabernacle, and although it's a life-long journey, I think this phase of the project has just met completion.

as scary as that can be, it has been beautiful.  although we're in the throws of fall, my heart seems to be on the verge of spring.  and what's prettier than Paris in the spring?

thoughts + questions on provision

i sat and watched on through the spotless glass as the chipmunks lapped up refreshment from the tiny creek.  the hummingbirds, suspended in mid-air, fluttered and flitted to and fro, from one feeder to the next.  two robins took their turns at the feeder, one repeatedly trying to fly through the glass that separated us.

i sat and looked out, but i came to this room to reflect.  within moments, my cheeks were wet with tears. and then, the full-on silent sob came.  fortunately, i had just hiked, and the mid-august heat had my face already "glistening" with beads of sweat, so the tears didn't seem so apparent.

i thought about these birds, that don't have to work for their food.  these chipmunks that don't have to hunt.  they've all been provided for.  but what about the ones in the field that couldn't make it? or didn't know? or were just too far away?  what happens to them?  and who gets to choose?  certainly these birds and beasts didn't *earn* the right to this never ending smorgasbord.  and certainly, the others didn't do enough bad-bird-stuff to get themselves banned from the buffet.

***

i looked to my right.  silently, a woman sat with an older, disabled child in a handicapped stroller.  they watched the birds, and every now and then, the woman would whisper something to the child, who wasn't capable of verbally responding.

my heart broke for this child, for this woman.  as they left, another dad came in, with yet again another older child, in a handicapped stroller, capable of only involuntary outburst and screams.  i heard him speak with tenderness about his daughter to the woman he was with, presumably, a new date.  i was broken for the difficulties that she would have to sacrifice for, and for the long, difficult, and somewhat unpredictable journey fatherhood must've been for him.

who got to choose that these children would have disabilities, when the ones in the other room are running and yelling, free as can be, with no assumption that it could, or should, be any different?  why is this the path that God had for them and their families?  certainly the Lord wouldn't punish a child for the sins of his parent; no more than he must grant bounty to some and bareness to others. 

***

i sat, and i cried, and i thought, and i cried some more.  

i didn't have any answers.  i didn't have any divine, spiritual wisdom revealed to me in some great epiphany.  i thought about my own lack as of lately; when i've been trusting the Lord for provision, for a job namely, but for other spiritual fortitudes, and how I feel like neither my good work can earn it, nor could my failures of flesh do anything to diminish it.  how i seem to be hanging in the balance, watching the birds find their food, yet being on the opposite side of the glass just peering out.

i read through Matthew 6 and continued to weep.  knowing that the Lord promises provisions for each and every day, one at a time.  also knowing that He uses others to be the answer to prayer; the Lord didn't drop manna for these mockingbirds-- He used humans to supply for their needs.  

quite often we could be the answer to someone else's prayers, but we are too busy offering to pray for them, rather than offering to jump in and help meet their needs. 

*** 

this post has been all over the place.  i don't have answers, and i think that's okay.  i wrestle with God often over the depravity of man and the difficult ways life presents itself.  but He's a big God, and He will always win the wrestling match. 

just some thoughts on provision, and the questions i have yet to find answers to.

Sometimes, there are things in life you don't necessarily enjoy or want to do, but you know they are good for you.  Running, limiting sweets, drinking V-8. Things that sort of hurt in the process, but the benefits often outweigh the price, or no one would ever even consider them.

Today, for me, it's writing.  Or, more specifically, writing about the anxiety that I've been dealing with for at least the better part of the past year.

I've prided myself on being the normal one in my family (forgive me of my self-righteousness).  I've thanked the Lord that I've not had to deal with the enslaught of issues that have plagued those on the branches of my family tree. And, when things got hard, I knew the One to turn to.

Today, I stepped outside to head to the grocery when it brushed past me, it's touch lingering and recalling memories that for no apparent reason brought about a haunting nostalgia.  The first crisp air of fall, a season we all long for as a reprieve from often unbearable, scorching summer heat that leaves us desparate for a change.

But for me, for some reason, that breeze wasn't the promise of a fresh season.  It was the poignant reminder of a painful past.  They say scent is the number one trigger of memories; I would argue that it's the first cool snap of fall.  I don't know why it triggers so much anxiety (aside from fall being a gateway to winter cold and awful clothes and seasonal depression), but each time I felt the simultaneous warm sun on my skin and brisk breeze pass me by, it was a lurking reminder of the difficulties to come, again, in the new season.

I try to separate what I feel and what I know to be true. I had to begin this process at the end of last summer, and I honestly never expected to still be dealing with this.  Where every decision is an opportunity to make the wrong, game-ending choice, and the fear of having to deal with anxiety is often worse than the anxiety itself.  You fear talking about it because you fear being seen differently because of it.  And you fear being seen differently because you fear that no one could truly want to try to understand it, deal with it, or even put the effort into loving you because of it.

I know these things to not *be* true, but the problem with anxiety is that it warps your emotions to manipulate your truths into doubts.  And the sinking feeling you get about sharing your emotions and truths and fears, and actually being right about them, prevents you from dealing with the anxiety the way we are called to deal with anything: in the light.

Today, I'm refusing to call lights-out at bedtime.  I'm taking a stand because I know I am strong enough to be transparent, even if our most common misconception of transparent items is that they are extremely fragile.  And tomorrow, I will turn and fight the lies again, as much as I have to, with as much strength I can muster. I'm thankful that even in the hard things, even when the anxiety makes it harder, I can still turn to the Lord and trust that He is bigger, stronger, and more powerful than I feel or realize.

***

I didn't realize this at time of posting, but I'm not the only one wrapped in the shroud of anxiety today. Nor am I the only one taking courage and fighting. Read below.

my new adventure

We are officially halfway through july.  As hard as it is for me to believe that this summer is pretty much disassembling its umbrellas and rolling up its beach towels, it's even harder for me to believe everything that has happened over the course of the past year.

I hardly know where to start.  Most would say the beginning, but I argue that I should start with the end.  

I am moving to Indianapolis.  

Trust me, not what I expected to hear, either.

But sometimes, we make plans, plans that we try so, so hard to align and attribute to God's will.  and sometimes, yes, our surrender and our obedience pleases Him, but I can't help to think how often He must chuckle and say, "Oh, my child."

***

In October, after 10 years of dreaming about it, I began applying for the Peace Corps.  In November, I submitted my application, told my principal I wouldn't be returning, resigned from my shortly-held position as Mission Lead with my new church, and thought that the next three years of my life was pretty well set.  

I interviewed in December, received my nomination the next day, got my legal clearance in February, and was told I would leave in July.

and in March, things began to change. 

For starters, I caught back up with Ryan, the guy who subleased my house while I was in Haiti last summer.  I had no idea we would fall for each other as quickly as we did.  Upon making my first of many trips to visit him in Indy, we talked and learned much about each other and how we ended up in our respective cities and career paths. After sharing all about my global galavants and my several failed attempts at enrolling in grad school, he nonchalantly, even half-jokingly asked me a question that would pretty much ruin me:

"So when you don't know what to do in life, do you just flee the country?"

I went about my business that weekend, not thinking of that question, and certainly not talking about the Peace Corps.  How could this man, that hardly knew me at this point, call me out on something that myself and those closest to me have failed to realize?  

After a whirlwind weekend in which was way harder to leave than anticipated, that question haunted me.  I had already begun having doubts about the Peace Corps as I had realized the anxiety I had been dealing with during that time, and how pervasive it had been in my decision to leave and join the PC.  But I had been less than vocal about this, and only to a few people.  Now, I was faced with this question, and I knew I had to sit down and properly evaluate my motives for joining.  

I decided to wait for my formal invitation to the PC, with my placement location, before making any concrete choices.  Regardless of how and why I applied in the first place, this had been my dream, and I knew there were several places I just would not be able to turn down the opportunity to. 

The end of the school year came and went, and before I knew it, I was back from an amazing trip to the Grand Canyon, and life in Nashville ground to a halt.  With a tentative departure of July, and it being mid-June, I decided to contact the PC to get any update on the progress of my application.  I attached the last correspondence we had at the end of February, in which it said they were working on Spring placements, and I would get mine after those leaving first got theirs.  As far as I knew, I was just waiting on a bright and shiny invitation to come in the mail. 

Her response, after three days, did not even acknowledge that I had contacted her.  She said in order for her to review my file-- wait, what?! You've had it 7 months and had not yet reviewed it?-- that she would need for me to answer the following questions, a list of 11 questions that I had already discussed at length during my hour-and-45-minute interview.  the kicker was when she asked when was the earliest date I could depart.  this had been answered on my application, during said interview, and then they gave me the date of July.  

Reading this email, I was totally frustrated.  I knew I had a decision to make, and it wouldn't come down to a cut-and-dry, you're going to China-- which means you're not going decision.  I had to either start over, or I had to walk away.

To answer those questions again would seem insincere.  I knew what to say; I knew what they wanted to hear.  But it all felt fake to go through this whole process again from where I was.

So, I withdrew my application.

I spent the following week in Florida, not sharing my decision yet, and then the next 2 1/2 weeks in Indianapolis, where we talked about the thought of me moving, what that might look like, looking at apartments, discussing if I could see myself living in Indy for a couple years, and if that was what we both wanted.  and, it was.  Ryan has two years left in Med school, and that's not very conducive to travel or long distance relationships.  and the thought of being in the same city as my boyfriend is pretty nice :)

So, pending getting a job, I decided I would move.  and then I got back to Nashville, and just altogether decided to move.  At this point, I need a job regardless of what city I am in.  If I am going to move anytime in the next two years, it needed to be at the beginning of a school year, and what better time than now when I was already planning on leaving Nashville and had already quit my job.  Makes me wonder if that's what God had up His sleeve all along.

***

The thought of leaving Nashville behind is terrifying to say the least.  I may have not been raised here, but I most definitely grew up in this city.  So much has happened in the past 6 1/2 years since choosing to make Nashville my home.  The friends here are family.  Many of them are from back home and have known me for 15 years.  Letting go of this city and the people in it is going to be extremely difficult.

But, it is time for a new journey.  It is time to take a risk and a real big leap of faith.  I've never moved for a guy before, and yes, there's huge risk in that.  But there's huge value and reward in it too.  I'm excited for this new adventure.  It is definitely not the path I imagined even just months ago, but as sad as I am to leave, I am just as excited to start this new chapter.

So there you have it.  To those that have supported my Peace Corps adventure, I am so sorry to disappoint you.  It's been hard for me to walk away from this dream, just as any dream is hard to let go of.  But I have to trust that what the Lord has for me in this next chapter will be better than I could've planned myself.  I am trusting Him to guide me in this new season of new cities and jobs and friends.  All of that is so hard to navigate on your own, but I am hopeful that the Lord will direct my steps.

Please continue your prayers as this journey will be no-less difficult than one in Asia or Africa.

It's funny; I have no qualms with the thought of moving to a new country, in which I don't speak the language, don't know a soul, and will likely have to eat a thing or two in which I don't know where it came from.  Those things don't scare me; in fact, I thrive on change and the unfamiliar.  Yet, the thought of moving just 4 1/2 hours away to a city I've spent some time in now, with a guy I've come to trust and care a lot about, is a little scary, mainly because I know my heart is on the line.  I'm discovering my insecurities, each little heavy-rooted one at a time.  I find it interesting to note that physical safety and material comforts and potentially isolated living situations don't make me flinch one bit, but when the heart is involved, there's fear of failure, of hurt, and of losing.  To me, that illustrates a lot about myself, namely that there is a huge learning curve for me to overcome, and this might be just the challenge that the Lord had for me in the first place.  It's in the challenges in life that we grow and come to learn so much about ourselves.  I'm excited to do that in a new city, and with someone that is there to listen as I am honest about my fears and to help me fight them one at a time.  

one-way

Indianapolis is a cursed city.

not Sodom and Gomorrah sort of cursed; but by these inconvenient little things called one-way streets.

seriously-- I have never witnessed so many one-ways in my life.

so one morning, I'm out exploring, pre-caffeine mind you, and I'm waiting at a red light at one of those confusing intersections where 3 roads converge.  going about my business, I make a left turn ... onto a one-way street.

i wouldn't have actually realized this, had two cars not already been occupying the lanes and fast approaching my ill-turned elantra.  one graciously got behind the other, and i found the nearest intersection to right-my-wrong.

and I got to thinking:  sometimes, we don't know the roads we take.  they are unfamiliar, often confusing, and the signs aren't all that clear.  someone that has been down that road could explain where the one-ways are or where they begin, but its hard to visualize that for yourself until you are there.  sometimes, the GPS does little to advise us, and sometimes we just miss it on account of our own disconnectedness.

but something comes out of those moments we are headed the wrong direction:  we learn.  we learn the structure of the city; we learn for ourselves the flow of the streets.  it becomes a part of us that we carry with us, informing us of the next time we are approach an intersection.

so whether you're sitting at the intersection, waiting to make a turn, or you're driving the wrong way down a one-way street, take note and learn from your mistakes.  know that the Lord will graciously redirect your path, and He doesn't revoke our license just because we lose the way.